Button My Dress?
by sharingank
Summary: Preparing for a dinner party had never been this dangerous...NaruSaku oneshot. Beware of the innuendo bug...


Well, it has been drawn to my attention that I haven't written any Naru/Saku fluff lately, and, since the piece I'm currently working on is going to be a lot darker than what I usually do, I thought I'd whip something sweet and gooey together in the meantime.

Began in Sociology, finished at the apartment…kind of short…hope y'all enjoy!

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****Button My Dress?**

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For a reason she could not quite place, Sakura had always liked the color red. There was something exciting about the bright, rich vibrancy that stood out in stark contrast to other colors, something that screamed, "Look! Here I am!" 

In her heart of hearts, she enjoyed attention, even though she would be the last person to admit it. Naruto garnered enough on his own without her help; it was a rare thing for the local gossip to not include at least one of the Rokudaime's daily misadventures—and the blonde young man was immensely proud of that.

Sakura was raised a kunoichi, however, a warrior yet still a lady, so she learned how to nudge the spotlight in her direction through less conspicuous means, namely wearing red as often as she could.

"Enhance what you've been given," her mother advised with all the wisdom of a woman who mastered the art of cosmetics, a game as old as the sun, and Sakura took those words to heart—when she wasn't out in the field. It was pointless to worry about the state of her petal-pink hair or the blood and grime streaked across her face while dispatching an enemy.

But the biggest tradeoff of all, the real reason her wardrobe was comprised almost entirely of red, was the way Naruto reacted when he saw her in it. His pupils dilated, his cheeks flushed, and his mouth—she was ever so fond of that mouth—opened slightly, offering a tiny glimpse of perfect white teeth. It was a look of lust and desire and _need_, and it made her feel dominant, as if she held the upper hand for once instead of the other way around.

Well…that and seeing the most powerful person she knew aroused really turned her on.

Who else _purred_ in the middle of a moment, anyway? She could look far and wide, but she'd never find that again, not unless she was willing to settle for a cheap imitation.

Haruno Sakura was a snob. She wanted the best of the best, and there was only one Uzumaki Naruto.

Her lips curled up in a wicked smile. "Wonder what I should put on tonight," she mused, scanning the rack upon rack of mismatched pieces in her spacious closet.

When they were first married, some two years ago now, Naruto was a bit weary of having a walk-in closet installed in their bedroom, and for good reason, too. All females, he was convinced, were born with an inherent trait that predisposed them to spend money on clothing that would be worn a maximum of three times, and then chucked into the closet to be forgotten about until, a decade or so later, it was rediscovered amidst exclamations of "I wondered where that was!" or "I've been looking all over for this thing!" and the cycle would begin anew.

Sakura had convinced him of the merit of the closet when she modeled her collection of lingerie—it had grown substantially since then—for him while his hands were bound to the bedstead. The more space they had, she told him as she changed bras, the more fun they could have.

He seemed to find no objection after that, and she chalked it up as another victory on her mental tally sheet. So far, though, he was winning, the sly, seductive bastard. Because she'd let slip—during a _very _intimate liaison—that her weakness was his mouth, and given his reputation as the world's most unpredictable ninja, he conceived of a variety of ways to use it, each unique to the mood.

It wasn't her fault that her skin was extra-sensitive. She could sooner change that than the size of her forehead.

"This might be nice," she paused before a backless red silk dress complete with train, brows arched. In the background, she could hear Naruto rummaging through drawers for an undershirt—he swore rather loudly when his efforts yielded little success—and her smile became a smirk. "I think _you_—" the dress was lifted from its hanger—"and I have a date, gorgeous."

"Oy! Saaa-kuuu-raaaa!"

Naruto's frazzled voice filtered through the open door.

She could picture the flustered expression on his face clear as if he stood in front of her. "What, fox?" She called back, biting her lip against giggles.

"I can't find any of my shirts!" The statement was accompanied by the _whoosh _of discarded garments as they sailed through the air. "It's like they all just…disappeared!"

"Maybe the dryer ate them," Sakura replied gravely, shrugging out of her blouse. Thankfully, the material was a good buffer for laughter. Whenever Naruto squawked like that it was damn near impossible to retain her composure.

"Sakura!" His tone was injured. "This is serious! We can't go anywhere if I don't have a clean one!" A pair of wrinkled trousers—Naruto had tossed them randomly—landed by her feet. "I'm wearing a suit, and everyone knows you can't wear a suit without an undershirt. It's…a universal rule!"

The kunoichi slid her jeans down her hips, amused. "Did you plan on stripping in front of our guests and forget to warn me?"

"_What_?" All movement outside the closet ceased.

"How else is anyone going to realize you're missing an undershirt?" Sakura retorted as she emerged, clutching the dress about her frame. She regarded her husband expectantly, noting with glee that his cobalt blue eyes were as round as tennis balls, and his jaw gaped as if unhinged.

_This _was when the score would even.

"Naruto, where on earth did your manners go?" She lowered her eyelashes in feigned embarrassment. "It's rude to stare."

"Sa—Sa—Sa—" He seemed to be having difficulty making his mouth work.

"Mm?"

The Hokage pointed lamely. "Dress," he croaked.

Sakura looked down at herself, astonished. "Oh, this old thing?" She made a show of examining her rear. "Goodness, it doesn't flatter my figure at all…"

"You…" Naruto gained enough control over his rampaging hormones to speak normally once again, "on _purpose_!" But realization dawned a bit too late. She already had him in the palm of her hand.

"Button my dress?" She said impishly, glancing over her shoulder.

Naruto groaned, utterly defeated.

Preparing for a dinner party had never been this dangerous.


End file.
